You shiver. Trying to keep dry under the small shelter of a gated entrance.

Waiting.

Waiting.

A few people pass, but there’s nothing.

You walk away, towards the church. You don’t want to get too close, but you know the trees at this time will not provide much cover. A small overhang speaks of a promise of staying dry.

You drift off in the muted church yard until you hear a voice. You realise there are two of them. One keeps laughing, the other gives blunt responses.

As they round the corner you can see them. One is revelling in his humour, pushing and pulling at the weary spirit of the other. Worn thin, you can almost see right through him. Each remark poking a new hole.

As they pass, something changes, he becomes harder. He gives no response to his friend now, which makes him push a bit harder.

But he’s gone too far. Something breaks. And at the entrance to the garden he turns and shouts, a burst of hidden power. And then he leaves. Slowly followed by his subdued tormentor.